Quietly Falling
by Ed Greenwood
Summary: A story about the troubles people face within themselves.


For James, life had always been an abysmal expenditure. It wasn't so much that he minded it, it was more appropriate to say that he found it unyielding and harrowing. Granted he was a teenager, and these thoughts and feeling were surely to be expected. At least this is was how he always excused his feelings. "They'll subside, you'll be better when your older," was his self assurance.

James, an only child to a confusing home situation, had never really learned to be a social being and was, as a result, a fairly withdrawn person. That was not to say he was an outsider, though. In fact, most people that new him loved his personality and he never found any trouble being drawn into conversations when he was out and about. This wasn't did nothing to help James's depression however, because the truth was, most of the time he didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't exactly want to be alone either. He always found himself thinking "Why can't we just sit here in a comfortable silence?" while somebody was busy unimportantly talking at him. For this reason, James found himself spacing out and not paying attention a lot of the time when things were being said to him. This had worked for most of his life without a hitch, and he became very accomplished at smiling and nodding at strange relatives and stranger friends.

This had to change every now and then of course, when he was forced to respond to direct questioning, the most significant case coming at one extended family outing.

James walked into the room with an outwardly charisma that made most believe that he actually wanted to be there. There was a general acknowledgment from the already arrived guests before they returned to their conversations. The room was much too small and plain for what it was being expected to facilitate. There were just enough chairs to make anyone sitting feel guilty and awkward for being that way, and made anyone standing feel like they were being watched by everyone else. It reminded James vaguely of a high school dance, with nobody wanting to draw any attention to themselves. On the far side of the room, James sighted a small, covered table that appeared to have food on it. Always eager to eat, as to have an excuse not to talk, he slide around the edge of the room to the lonely bowl of trail mix that was serving as a refreshment station for the ten or so people that had arrived so far. The bowl itself was as dark and deep as James's depression. He never much cared for trail mix, finding it too jumbled and that the flavors occasionally clashed with one another. He would take the time to pick out the pretzel rings, as opposed to taking big handfuls of it all. James found it tiresome to pick out the good bits from everything else that was, in his opinion, bleak and unappetizing, but he did it anyway. A tired exercise, executed in a precise fashion. While performing his delicate operation that would surely screw up the mix for everyone else, an aunt found her way over to gently engage the promising surgeon in a conversation.

"I didn't even see you come in," she said while unfurling a hug. "It's been ages, how have you been Ja…"

The rest of the conversation was lost to him, as he put on a fake smile and began to spew out the usual, short quips that sufficed as answers to whatever she was saying.

This was until she asked him one simple inoculate question, that being, "…so what do you want to do?"

It was a variation on a question that James had been asked many times before, and yet it completely set him off his track.

"Um…," a not so quick recovery, "I haven't completely decided yet, but i know I want to study economics or political science."

For some reason, this was always an off-putting answer for people, perhaps because they were frightened of the prospect of coming to close to politics, but more likely it was because they didn't grasp what that meant. This was nothing new to James, he was used to feeling misunderstood, and he paid no attention as the relative clumsily changed the subject. His head was elsewhere, still thinking about the question that had been asked. Because in that moment, James knew exactly what he wanted to do, and it had nothing to do with economics or political science. The truth was, he wanted to fly. Or not so much fly as he wanted to fall. A very far way.

The outing concluded without any other problems for James. Most everyone was aware to the fact that he was no great conversationalist, and kept away from him outside of any vague pleasantries. He, however, could not get the strange urge to fall out of his head. It stuck with him for many days, in fact, until he found himself facing the notion head on.

It was a mundane occurrence, that in fact lead him to this confrontation. He had decided to go out on a run, something he liked to, if for nothing else than to feel the sweat on his body. Today was only different in the fact that he felt better about it, and pushed himself further. This would have been fine had his shoe not come untied. James noticed this, but continued anyway, until the clatter of the plastic tips became far too irritating. Frustrated, he begrudgingly stopped. He bent double and tied the string tight enough to cut off the circulation in his foot. Standing, he happened to peer over the edge of the bridge he was crossing. Cars whizzed below on the highway, reckless and unyielding. The thought of falling still in his head, he stepped closer to the edge, abandoning his inhibitions of running for the time being. A gold Toyota caught his eye from down the road and he watched it pass underneath. Next came a truck. Then a red Ford. James leaned over the railing, wanting to catch up with them. To catch up to life. Then, ever so quietly, without even realizing what he was doing, James let go. And quietly fell.


End file.
